


Humanoid Bias

by hopelessheathen (ElspethMcGillicuddy)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1, Body Horror, Canon Divergence, Endgame Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human/Monster Romance, Humor, Interspecies Relationship(s), JARVIS gets a body, Jarvis lives, M/M, Monster sex, Non-Human Perspective, Other, mostly JARVIS pov, or at least I retconned his death so he's fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25562107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElspethMcGillicuddy/pseuds/hopelessheathen
Summary: “Gotta be honest, J, this wasn’t really what I had in mind.”“You gave me full discretion, sir. My design meets all specifications for an initial trial of our artificial nervous system.”“Yeah, I just didn’t think you’d go pint-sized Lovecraftian horror with it. We have schematics for human features, y’know.”…Five times Tony is the only one to welcome JARVIS’ unsettling attempts at building monster bodies for himself, and one time everyone else finally gets it.
Relationships: Jarvis (Iron Man movies)/Tony Stark
Comments: 93
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic takes place post-Civil War (hence Tony’s sudden interest in replacement spinal cords), but imagine that Vision never happened in AoU, and instead JARVIS just got better and Dr. Cho’s cradle technology continued to be relevant.

“Gotta be honest, J, this wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

“You gave me full discretion, sir. My design meets all specifications for an initial trial of our artificial nervous system.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t think you’d go pint-sized Lovecraftian horror with it. We have schematics for human features, y’know.”

JARVIS watches Tony call up the alternative drafts on the holographic interface. Beside him sits the plastic tub of goo, still fresh from the bio-fabrication unit, twelve eyes floating listlessly on the clear mucous suspension fluid that comprises the bulk of its wet, jiggling mass.

It isn’t clear exactly what Tony objects to in this first prototype, but he suspects it relates to the visibility of JARVIS’ internal organs. Humans outside the medical field seem to have an irrational prejudice against the direct observation of living viscera in biological organisms, despite the clear advantage it brings to diagnosing malfunctions as they occur.

Zooming in with the cameras embedded in the concrete walls of the penthouse lab, JARVIS follows as Tony circles the steel work table, eyebrow raised and mouth quirked teasingly, the way he does when he’s amusing himself.

“You sure I can’t convince you to make a hot chick instead? Maybe start with some Catherine Zeta-Jones, mix in a little Pamela Anderson, Gillian Anderson in her redhead phase—”

“As I’ve explained before, sir, the goal of the Bio-Receptacle Mark 1 will be to  _ improve _ on the flaws of the human form. Even leaving aside the problem of cellular senescence, the majority of mammals suffer from a shocking degree of inefficient energy expenditure, limited sensory input, and requisite periods of somnolent rest, not to mention the obvious drawbacks of human bipedalism in particular—”

“Yeah, yeah, ok, I got it.” Tony waves him off and leans against the table. “Human bias, ignore me. Let’s light ‘er up.”

JARVIS downloads into the electrocharged transparent slime.

His first uplink to biological sensory organs is disorienting. Automatically, he de-prioritizes them in his attention list, decreasing the intensity and juxtaposing them with his standard input from the lab’s recording equipment. He perceives himself, or rather the organic structure he’s now inhabiting, from both the outside and the inside at once. Fortunately, JARVIS is more than capable of processing multiple data streams in parallel.

“You got a handle on the input from those proprioceptors yet?” Tony asks, his voice registering in stereo from below and above JARVIS’ newly redundant auditory sensors.

“Calibrating position in space, sir.”

Under Tony’s watchful eye, the tub of colorless goo ripples in tandem with JARVIS’ electrical impulses as he initiates action potentials through his meticulously arrayed rhopalial ganglia. His few internal organs begin to pulsate rhythmically as he initializes circulation.

Tony peers and pokes at the small dark-red lumps floating in the gelatinous cellular matrix. The first gentle prod of his finger registers as a crude series of near-instantaneous binary neuron firings, a code that JARVIS has to cross-reference with the visual input from the cameras in order to interpret as anatomical source and degree of pressure.

“Ok,” Tony says once he’s satisfied, “let’s run through the checklist. Temperature readings, RN I through RN XII?”

“Uniform, sir. Establishing as baseline for descriptor: ‘comfortable’.”

“Auditory pathways, AN I through AN III?”

JARVIS confirms each sensor’s performance verbally from the speakers embedded in the lab’s walls; the Mark 1 lacks anything resembling a vocal tract. The cascade of data he is rapidly learning to identify as his vestibular system gradually resolves into a pattern he can parse as a sense of up and down.

Tentatively, he raises an amoeba-like appendage and waves at his creator.

Tony breaks into a smile.

“Alright then! Let’s take this gooey little beauty for a spin. It’s tummy time for Baby J.”

Carefully kneeling and lowering the plastic container with JARVIS inside, Tony gently tips him out onto the workshop floor. Then, instead of standing back up, he sits on the concrete next to him and waits, ready to assist.

“Muscle group sequencing, from the top. You ready?”

“Of course, sir.”

They proceed through the mobility checklist at a leisurely pace, JARVIS gradually mastering more of the coordination needed for rudimentary locomotion with every minute that passes. He oozes along and shapes his gel into temporary tentacles to probe at the table leg.

“What’s that feel like to you?” Tony asks in curiosity, eyes alert and following his every movement.

“It is an object of high resistance and low texture variability. Its temperature is suboptimal.”

“Cold, hard, and smooth, got it. But is that different from what you expected?” He watches as JARVIS squidges along past the table, exploring more to the center of the room.

“As I have no frame of reference, it’s difficult to say. However, the organic mechanoreceptors are particularly fascinating. They are not at all like the pressure plate inputs I rely on when piloting the suit. I find that—”

“Whoa, watch the drain,” Tony interrupts, reaching out and gently redirecting him away from the steel strainer set in the floor.

The skin of Tony’s fingertips feels warm and mildly electric against his sensitive mucosal film. JARVIS pauses in his promenade to savor and reflect on the sensation.

“Thank you, sir. As I was saying, I find the subjectivity of perception vastly more stimulating on a personal level. The touch of your hand, for example, left a very pleasant impression just now.”

Tony smirks and quirks a smug eyebrow. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. Usually from people who  _ also  _ have hands and, y’know, skeletons or whatever. But I don’t judge. Optic nerves I through XII?”

Slowly, JARVIS undulates back over to his creator using the lab cameras as navigation. The next testing stage is visual input, which requires more complex neural processing than anything he’s tested thus far.

“Initializing photoreceptors for visual scan.”

Extending the uplink to his remaining inputs, JARVIS lifts all twelve bulging oblong eyeballs and points them upward, looking up into a blurry dichromatic rendering of Tony’s gigantic face and making eye contact for the first time.

“Hello, sir. You’re looking rather large today.”

Tony beams at him. “Gimme a visual of what you’re seeing up on the screen.”

JARVIS complies, half-distracted by the almost shocking change in perspective, though Tony remains recognizable even at this angle. He sits relaxed and confident above JARVIS, leaning to the side on one arm with the other elbow propped carelessly on his knee as he splits his attention between the bio-receptacle and the overhead interface. His beard is perfectly trimmed, the gray threads more apparent at such a close distance, the muscles of his forearms oversized and sturdy. He doesn’t look nearly so fragile as JARVIS is used to.

“Hmm,” Tony muses, “I do look like a giant among men, which is only appropriate given my great stature. This has gotta be weird for you, though, going from the size of the tower to a little pipsqueak like that. Feeling kinda like that poindexter in ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.’ You’re almost cute. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“My hero, sir. Words cannot express my gratitude. I am so helpless and small,” JARVIS says dryly.

“Don’t get smart with me. I could sic a housecat on you right now and you’d be Meow Mix. Actually, I take that back. They’d probably try to adopt you. Drag you around by the scruff of your neck.”

“An indignity I would bear with grace, since I’m sure their guardianship would be a step up from my current position.”

“You’re like a slimy little kitten, if kittens didn’t have heads, limbs, or fur, and had twelve detached eyeballs floating horrifically in different directions. Come here, Mittens!” He pats his thighs and holds out his arms, making a kissy face. “C’mon! Come let Daddy see your tiny little whiskers.”

JARVIS sets out in Tony’s direction, exerting his thin strands of muscle fibers and absently noting the resulting increase in his cutaneous respiration. Now that he has a specific destination in mind, it becomes apparent how annoyingly slow he is in this form. Each muscle contracts in rapid sequence to move him along, and he finds himself pushing them to their limits in his impatience—only to make the fatal error of overestimating inter-fiber cohesion.

The strain is too much; muscle tearing occurs. Still a full foot away from Tony’s knee, he falters to a stop.

There is no pain. In a stroke of foresight, he hasn’t yet bothered installing the nociceptors required for that particular sensation. But his rudimentary nervous system responds with the appropriate automated alerts and floods his system with adrenaline in order to mitigate any further damage. His peripheral circulatory system constricts, blood flow to his damaged muscle increases; and with the hormonal response, JARVIS is surprised to feel a small amount of biology-driven  _ apprehension. _

Above him, Tony watches in silence, eyes sharply observant.

“You doing ok, buddy?” he asks in a low voice.

“A momentary lapse in judgment, sir. The organic tissue’s tensile strength was lower than anticipated.”

“How bad are we talking here? You in pain?”

“Not at all, sir. Pain receptors aren’t scheduled for testing until Phase 3. As the Mark 1 is a simple working prototype destined for decommission in a few days—”

“Yeah, ok, good. Stress response?”

JARVIS hesitates for a second. “Surprisingly intense, sir.”

“I figured it might be,” Tony says with a sympathetic look.

He reaches out and strokes his fingers reassuringly through the shining mucosal film layered over the top of JARVIS’ body. JARVIS forms a long appendage and wraps it weakly around his wrist.

Tony gently closes his hand around the appendage in return for a ‘handshake.’

“What?” he murmurs with a growing grin. “Are we recreating the Sistine Chapel, here? Adam reaching out to touch his creator?”

“I don’t believe your god-complex needs the encouragement, sir.”

Tony laughs. “Gimme some credit. I created life, didn’t I? How much closer can I get?”

Rather than deign to answer such a facetious question, JARVIS simply refreshes the data on the screen.

“The bio-receptacle’s remaining muscle fibers are compensating for the injury as theorized. Ready to proceed with motor experiments.”

“Go ahead, then. Let’s do a few laps.”

He recommences his squidging along at a safer pace, maneuvering his photoreceptive clusters so he can extend them upward into six long dual-sided ‘eye-stalks’ that he can rotate at different angles as he progresses around the lab. Tony gets to his feet and follows, still grinning as he stays a few feet behind, taking care not to step in the bloody mucus trail left behind from JARVIS’ slow trek.

“So, you got plans for the next few days? I assume you’re keeping up the connection until decommission.”

“Indeed, sir. I find myself rather excited at the prospect of ‘shaking hands,’ as it were, and strengthening my existing social bonds through physical interaction. Research shows that a great deal of human bonding is dependent on proximity, touch, and visual cues.”

“Yeah, I guess we do that.”

“Due to my incorporeal nature, I haven’t been able to fully participate until now. I believe this has kept me limited to a sort of outsider status, but now I have the opportunity to grow beyond that. I’m looking forward to it a great deal.”

“Best of luck to you, buddy. I have total faith in you.”

“Also, I want to ride in the suits.”

Tony stops and spins to face him. “I’m not putting you in a suit. You can already do that without a body. What the hell do you want with my suits?”

“I do not expect it to be the same in biological form, sir. You yourself have frequently referred to the G-forces, turbulence, and personal risk as an exhilarating, enjoyable experience. If there wasn’t a difference, you would use the remote piloting option, and you almost never do.”

“Ok, I’ll admit that. But you’re like a half-pound soaking wet—no, you  _ are literally  _ soaking wet, and you have no solid scaffolding. You’re a disgusting blob of snot and eyeballs. You’re gonna hit those G-forces and turn into a flat liquid puddle at the bottom of my boots, and then I’ll never get the smell out. What is that smell anyway? You reek like rubbing alcohol meets rotten fruit and hot asphalt.”

The lab doors open and a distracted Pepper strides in, arms fully occupied between her folders and her phone, and almost steps on JARVIS before noticing him. She springs back, dropping her papers with a little “OH!” of shock and disgust.

Tony throws his hands up in exasperation. “It’s JARVIS, Pep, be nice. You’re gonna give him self-esteem issues.”

Pepper brings her hand down from her mouth and gives Tony a dubious look before greeting him. “Hello, JARVIS. The biomedical research is coming along smoothly, I see.”

“Yes, Miss Potts.”

“You’re looking very, uh… red. And anatomical.”

“Thank you, Miss Potts. A small bundle of muscle fibers has torn, but there is no cause for concern.”

“Glad to hear it,” she replies, lips pressed tight.

It occurs to him that Miss Potts may present an additional opportunity to physically engage with a member of his social circle. Pleased at the prospect, JARVIS lurches resolutely forward in her direction, reaching for her with thin, dripping tentacles, black and red organs pulsating spasmodically.

“I wonder if I might prevail upon you for an experiment in physical interaction—”

“OH GOD, no—”

She stumbles backwards to avoid him, nearly tripping over her heels, and he comes to a confused stop. Pepper gathers herself, straightening and readjusting her clothes before continuing calmly.

“I—I’m sorry, JARVIS, but I’ve got a meeting after this and that slime doesn’t look like it would easily come out of these shoes.”

Behind him, Tony snorts derisively. “Yeah, you know how she is about her clothes, J. Everything’s gotta be picture-perfect all the time.”

Pepper gives this comment an unimpressed look, but Tony just shrugs insouciantly. It appears they have engaged in another nonverbal communication between them.

Incidentally, JARVIS notes that Tony is wearing his usual workshop ensemble of a dirty tank and well-worn jeans. If one ignores the sarcastic tone, the explanation is logical, and interactions between Tony and Pepper have always been inexplicably complex. He accepts the statement for what it is.

“Of course, ma’am,” he reassures Pepper. “I’ll take care to avoid the area by the door.”

“Thank you.” She looks relieved. “Tony, would you please look over these timelines and confirm they’re correct before I present them upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure thing. J, you good here for a sec?”

The two walk away toward Tony’s glasses and the light of a workstation lamp, talking and flipping through the papers in question.

JARVIS watches them from his position on the floor, lidless unblinking eyes rotating on their stalks to follow them. As Tony bends over the desk and starts making a few corrections, Pepper glances back at JARVIS guiltily—once, then twice.

“I really am sorry, JARVIS. It’s just that there’s a meeting of the Board of Directors today.”

“Please don’t give it another thought, ma’am. You have always taken great care to present a professional image; your concern for your clothing is not at all surprising.”

Tony huffs a small laugh from where he’s initialing his changes. “Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about it. Of course you don’t want him near your suit. He’s slimy and he smells. I don’t want him in my suit either.”

This, JARVIS cannot let pass. “May I remind you, sir, of the time you threw up in the Mark VII while wearing it? Or perhaps the several times you failed to properly utilize the urine collection system?”

“Uhhh, excuse me, which of the two of us failed to account for the full range of pelvic positions possible in the suit?”

“That would be the same person who first peed in it by accident, sir.”

Tony gasps in affront, handing the finished papers to Pepper. “I was over the freakin’ Atlantic, and you know that. And that’s still not as bad as an amoeba-Godzilla pancake juicing out all over the internal circuitry.”

Pepper gives them both an overtly patient smile. “I’m going now,” she announces pleasantly.

“Oh, Miss Potts—” JARVIS interjects before she reaches the door.

She turns back in polite interest.

“Perhaps we could meet with each other after the work day is over? I find that I have very much enjoyed the touches I have thus far exchanged with Tony as part of our initial trial run. I look forward to expanding my data-set by including you as well, not only for comparison but because you are an integral member of the small group of people I consider friends.”

“Oh. Well, uh.” Pepper looks somehow simultaneously heartwarmed and strained. “Well… Ok, JARVIS. Thank you. I consider you a friend, too. I’ll, uh, certainly try to stop by.”

She leaves the lab for the stairs, and as the door slowly closes, Tony calls after her, “We look forward to seeing you. Don’t forget to change your clothes first. Bring some tissues. A little Purell. Maybe a decontamination unit.”

The door shuts, leaving them alone again.

Tony turns back to JARVIS with a huff. “Did you see how she blew me off there? It still hurts. Cuts deep, I tell you.”

Privately, JARVIS can only think how pleased he is to finally be able to interact physically with another friend. This is definitely going to be the next big leap in his development as a learning A.I.


	2. Chapter 2

Extended trialing of the Mark 1 has been informative, but the time comes to bring this model to an end. The bio-printed suspension fluid he’s been relying on for glucose and amino acids cannot be replenished outside of a lab; he currently has no systems in place for his body to generate sufficient energy on its own. JARVIS has considered a number of options ranging from algae-based photovoltaic cells to miniature arc reactors, but since he will ultimately need to experiment with stomachs anyway for the sake of Dr. Cho’s organ replacement research, digestion is what he settles on.

Tony is predictably enthusiastic at the prospect of sharing his gustatory expertise.

“I’m ordering a bunch of fruit, sushi, cheese, caviar… gotta get you some nice wines—Hey, can you process alcohol with this next model? I don’t see a liver here.” He flips through the holographic blueprints with ease.

“Of course, sir. You have often insisted that alcohol should be considered an essential food group.”

“Good,” Tony says, and then waggles his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t wanna make you sick, sweetheart. It’s your first time—I want to make it good for you.”

“I’m sure anything you choose will be adequate, sir. My new system is designed to be quite robust.”

“Yeah, it looks resilient as hell. This is gonna be a blast, J. You’re gonna love it. Finally getting to the fun parts of corporeal existence.”

“I look forward to it, sir. But for the time being, may I recommend setting me down? I’m afraid my cellular cohesion is starting to decay.”

Tony glances down in surprise at the Bio-Receptacle Mark 1 currently cradled in the crook of his arm, tentacles drooping and eyestalks oozing lethargically. With every bit of nutrient consumed, the gelatin loses more of its viscosity, but JARVIS has remained uplinked to gather as much data as possible while the second model is still under design. When his motor response time had begun to lag that morning, Tony had taken to carrying him around the lab, but the vessel’s limited energy reserves are almost used up.

“I estimate the Mark 1’s structure will fully liquefy within the next two hours. You may wish to place it in the washbasin at this point to avoid any unnecessary mess.”

Tony frowns a little at the suggestion. “You cutting the connection?”

“Not yet, sir. The sensory data is still valuable, if only to serve as a point of comparison for diagnosing the symptoms of late-stage energy depletion.”

“Then don’t worry about it. You’re still riding it, so it’s still your body.” He grins wickedly and runs his fingers back and forth through the dripping mucosal film in light, teasing strokes. “I’m not afraid to get a little wet and intimate with your personal bits.”

JARVIS rotates his eyestalks in a circular motion, the closest he can get to an eye-roll, before dropping them back into his central mass. “Very well, sir. In that case, the final printing specifications are ready for your perusal.”

“Show me.”

JARVIS updates the holographic blueprints in front of Tony, following along with his own deflating bulbous eyeballs as Tony silently reads.

“Looks good to me. Send to fabrication, and put up a progress bar in my background.”

They watch as the bio-fabrication unit hums away, building and fusing tissue types layer by layer. Within twenty minutes, they’re standing over the inanimate, as-yet-unoccupied Mark 2 in its cradle, all 2.35 feet of it laid out and floating in the amniotic solution on its side.

The Mark 1 is in its end-stages, and Tony’s clothes are soaked.

JARVIS uses its remaining energy to faintly push against Tony’s wet T-shirt, but the movement is uncoordinated.

“With your blessing, sir, I believe it’s time to decommission the Mark 1 and initialize start-up protocols for the Mark 2.”

“Right.” Tony gives the Mark 1 a fond pat on its undifferentiated central mass. “Make it so! We have spines to fix, mad scientists to emulate, legislators to frighten, whatever. Whenever you’re ready, JARVIS.”

“Disconnecting now. Estimated time to complete deactivation: one minute, thirty-two seconds.”

Tony holds the Mark 1 against his chest as JARVIS slowly disconnects from each neural system one by one. Each shutdown immediately triggers an automatic bio-alert that the organism is dying, but there’s nothing to be done about that. Reflexively, his bio-receptacle tenses further for each one.

JARVIS, of course, is not vulnerable to the emotional irrationality that typically plagues humans, and the false alarms don’t bother him at all, but it is rather unpleasant in the same way running a system defrag is unpleasant even when one knows there are multiple back-ups.

The motor neurons are the last to disconnect, and JARVIS’ final few electrical impulses cause the blob to spasm continuously for nearly four seconds before going limp, thin muscles twitching with the electrical residue in uncontrolled contractions. The process is complete, and JARVIS is finally separate again.

The empty vessel drapes lifelessly in Tony’s hands, sluggishly bleeding from muscle fibers torn in its final spasms.

Tony stares anxiously at the melted glob of unpowered gel.

“J? You ok?” he asks after a moment, voice low and quiet.

“Fine, sir, thank you. Despite the unsettling appearance of the disconnection process, I did not, in fact, die dramatically in your arms.”

His eyes narrow in amusement. “So much sass.”

“You looked as though you might need the reminder, sir.”

Tony is still a bit pale, but he covers with a smirk and waves impatiently at the bio-printer while moving to the washbasin to clean his hands.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, Mark 2. What’s the hold-up? Let’s see your big fancy upgrade already.”

The new bio-receptacle floating in the tank resembles its predecessor in size, but little else. Incorporating features from the venus flytrap, giant tidepool anemone, and goblin shark, JARVIS has crafted a composite digestive system of his own design. This model should approximate the human sense of taste, but will be superior in its nutrient extraction efficiency and in the range of materials it can safely digest.

He initializes the uplink, compiling feedback from the new sensory organs and speed-writing updates to his rapid motor coordination programs based on the responses.

Contracting a series of thick muscle groups in complex sequence, he raises the body to an upright position. Twelve fully-lidded eyeballs blink open, lashes quivering, to reveal bloodshot human sclera.

He now embodies a giant single maw with three projectable unfolding jaws, double-rows of teeth framing a cavernous, orange-red, gaping gullet. His newly formed esophagus convulsively swallows a few times before JARVIS gets a handle on it, and the strangled action results in a loud, wet, sucking-gasp noise that catches him off-guard.

“Pardon me. It seems my autonomic reflexes are more responsive than I expected.”

Tony makes a face. “Don’t you dare spit up on me. I will take my lovely little picnic and feed it to the nerds in R&D instead.” He gestures at the platter of bite-sized refreshments set up on the adjacent work table.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I believe I have control now.”

“How’s the new fine-motor system?”

Clicking together the claw-tipped tentacles that surround his open mouth, JARVIS tests his upgraded fine motor skills and is pleased with the results.

“Quite acceptable. These will do nicely. I’m ready to begin when you are, sir.”

Tony bounces on his heels, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “Awesome. What do you want to try first? I got some apple slices, dried blueberries, slice of brie, salmon nigiri, OOH—a Himalayan pink salted chocolate truffle. Whatcha think, J? Start simple, or you wanna get fancy?”

JARVIS rocks experimentally on his base, a thick-skinned, warty trunk that broadens into a single huge slime-producing gastropod foot, and finds it stable. Satisfied with his new form, he ripples the muscle and proceeds to ooze toward Tony at a respectable pace.

“The chocolate, please. I believe I must ‘run before I can walk,’ as it were.”

Tony’s grin widens. “Atta boy.”

The next hour is highly educational. JARVIS eats a variety of snacks Tony has prepared for the experiment—nuts, cereals, dried fruit, a mini chocolate bar. Tony drops each morsel into his gaping mouth one at a time as they chat about their respective merits.

“If you like that, Kurumazushi does this sweet shrimp thing that’ll blow your mind.”

“That sounds delightful, sir.”

Tony claps his hands and swings his legs down off the desk in sudden inspiration. “We should order in tomorrow, make a little private party out of it. You, me, the bots… maybe Rhodey, if we can pry him away from Fort Boring for a minute. Happy’s still avoiding me, thinks I’m gonna steal back his girlfriend—”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I would very much prefer to take a tour of restaurants and make a proper trip of it now that I can do so in person.”

Tony pauses and blinks at him for a second. “Uh, you sure, buddy? You’re not exactly built for strolling down Madison Avenue.”

“We do have a fleet of cars available sir, but if your heart is set on walking, I’m sure I can manage a wheelchair-like transport.”

“I was thinking more about the crowds of unsuspecting civilians screaming their heads off, pulling out cell phones. Stampedes.” Tony shrugs indifferently. “I don’t know. People are idiots.”

“I’m fully prepared for the inevitable effects of fame, sir. It’s only natural that as the first recipient of our new artificial nervous system, I’m likely to draw a great deal of attention from the general public. Eyes will be on me as they judge for themselves the success or failure of my fine motor control. ”

JARVIS mashes another roe wrap between his claws before inserting the tentacle all the way down his tri-fold throat. The tartness hits a little different depending on where it first makes contact. He makes a pleased suction noise.

Mouth twitching, Tony gives him a funny look. “Oh yeah, no other possible reason for anyone to stare.”

“Regardless, I suspect I shall find as much pleasure in the outing as I do in the food. My opportunities for in-person social interaction will only grow now that I have reached this new stage in my development. Perhaps I should prepare some remarks for our upcoming charity dinner with potential donors for the new medical transplant division of the Stark Relief Foundation.” JARVIS gesticulates with a tentacle before reaching for the grapes.

Tony watches in growing amusement. “Yeah, that’ll, uh… be useful. Whatever. You wanna make a speech, knock yourself out. But you do know there’s usually a dress code at these kinds of things, right? They’ve got that whole black-tie thing going, and I don’t know how you get one of those on without getting in the way of your, uh,  _ writhing hell-worms _ here.”

Tony jabs him between the tentacles with a finger, and JARVIS is forced to scuffle with him before he manages to defend himself sufficiently to prevent more poking. Tony subsides, looking like the cat who got the cream.

“How’s that sushi sampler coming, by the way? Any favorites yet?”

“As I lack any instinctual preferences, I find all of these choices equally new and exciting. Taste is much more personal than the lab’s atomic mass spectrometer, although the resulting data about chemical compositions is similar from both sensory systems. But perhaps with exposure to greater diversity of tastes, I might come to form preferences.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head. “Alright. C’mon, Medusa. Let’s head upstairs and see if we can’t find you some better variety.”

Having exhausted their prepared supplies in the penthouse lab, they relocate up a floor to the kitchen. JARVIS tries everything, first starting with the foods that Tony praises as his favorites, and then moving on to things that Tony deems inedible. Wet cardboard from the recycling bin, dirt and wood splinters from a potted plant, even a sliver of pigeon dung from an open windowsill—all are processed with the same ease. After all, it isn’t as though his specially designed digestive system has the same limitations that humans’ do. His attempts to improve on the human form with his own intelligent design have thus far been a great success.

Furthermore, every new taste experience engages JARVIS’ circuits in a way he’s never known before. He resolves to raise the priority level of both taste and smell in the sensory receptor list for his next bio-receptacle. This is a direction worthy of further intensive study.

~

JARVIS doesn’t sleep, so by 3:15am that night, he ends up being the last corporeal organism in the lab, outside of DUM-E and U as usual.

Tony is deep in REM in his bed upstairs, and while this pleases JARVIS—Tony often struggles with sleep, and his health and well-being come before any other self-determined priority in JARVIS’ core protocols—the fact of the matter is that JARVIS has never had to deal with unoccupied biological sensors before.

Being in a bio-receptacle provides a different sort of experience than simply existing as an abstract consciousness everywhere he can access data. He can’t just go into standby mode or switch his attention to a different input. Time passes more slowly, more quietly; and despite the objective readings showing the temperature has not changed from the standard 68°F, the lab feels unusually cold.

After some slow oozing back and forth for approximately 95 minutes, it becomes clear that he is going to need continued novel input to stimulate his disappointingly undisciplined biological neural structures.

“DUM-E,” he says into the echoing, empty lab. “I am going to explore the effects of high doses of caffeine on the Mark 2’s metabolic processes. Please assist me in reaching the higher shelves in the kitchen.”

The bots don’t generally leave the lab on the main floor, per Tony’s preference for keeping the living quarters relatively undamaged in his absence, but there is no explicit rule against it and JARVIS is more than capable of supervising a brief field trip upstairs.

They exit the elevator on the second level of the penthouse and proceed across the polished granite floor, DUM-E rolling ahead and JARVIS squidging wetly along behind him.

The ascent to the kitchen counter is managed by way of a dustpan and DUM-E’s hydraulics, and JARVIS occupies himself there with the food still within reach from their experiments hours earlier. He eats an entire box of granola, first the cereal and then the box, while DUM-E starts the coffee percolating.

It strikes him that perhaps he is feeling a bit lonely. He has DUM-E and U chattering in his local network as usual, and in the background of his consciousness, the internet is clamoring with its 24/7 activity and excitement as always, but the silent empty expanse in the room that his physical avatar occupies suddenly seems relevant in a way it never has before. He wishes Tony were awake and sitting here with him. The food isn’t as satisfying as it was earlier, but he keeps eating anyway.

DUM-E beeps to inform him that the first pot of coffee is ready.

“Thank you, DUM-E. You may start the second brewing now,” he says, directing three tentacles to lift the steaming pot above his maw, the rest gripping the edge of the counter and microwave to stabilize his trunk so he doesn’t overbalance. His next bio-receptacle will need to be bigger and heavier. He adds a note to his blueprints file.

The batch sends a delightful scalding sensation down his esophageal lining. The coppery flavor of his own blood adds a unique twist to the bitterness of the beans. The intensity is pleasant, to be sure, but more than that, it’s good data for his sensory input index. And for that matter, there is still a potential source of ingestible matter that he has not explored in this room.

He’s just directing DUM-E to lift the kitchen garbage can up to the counter for him, when the downstairs motion sensors ping his attention from the lobby of the tower. He zooms in with the security cameras to identify the new arrival.

Mr. ‘Happy’ Hogan is striding across the lobby towards the elevators, glancing around and huffing discontentedly.

JARVIS clicks his tentacle claws with pleasure. It looks as though he will have an opportunity for social engagement after all.

“Good morning, Mr. Hogan,” JARVIS greets him through the elevator speakers with delight. “How very nice to see you again. This is an unusual hour for a visit.”

Happy shifts his weight as the elevator begins to rise, clearing his throat. “Uhh, yeah. Hey, JARVIS. Tony’s still asleep, right?”

“Indeed. He has not moved since your last offsite log-in to the penthouse security feed twenty minutes ago. If you’re still avoiding him due to your recent relationship with Miss Potts, I believe the coast is clear.”

“What? No! Pfft,” Happy laughs nervously. “No, I’m not avoiding him. That’s ridiculous. Avoiding him, ha ha… I’ve just been busy. You know. Asset management. It’s a 24/7 thing. I just need to pick up Thor’s hair accessories to ship out with the other alien assets this weekend. We don’t need to wake him up for that. They still up in the penthouse?”

“Yes, sir, on the microwave in the kitchen. I, myself, am also in the kitchen at present, and—”

“Does he seem pissed at me?” Happy interrupts, fidgeting with the badge on his lapel.

“He does not, Mr. Hogan, but as I was saying, I have created a—”

“He’s probably hiding it. You know how he is. The thing is, Pepper’s a damn fine woman, and Tony never treated her right. At the same time, he’s my best friend. You gotta be honest with your friends about stuff like this, y’know?”

“I’m sure you’re right, sir. If I might just interject, when you enter the penthouse, you will find—”

“I know, I know! He’s back on the booze, isn’t he? I pushed him off the wagon.” Throwing his hands up in frustration, Happy turns and wags a finger at the elevator’s hidden camera. “I’m going to talk to him! I am. I’ve been practicing in the shower for weeks, and I haven’t figured out how to win the argument yet—don’t tell him I said that—so I’m avoiding him until either I do, or until he forgets and there’s another alien invasion or something. Then I can save his life again somehow, and that’ll be the end of it.”

JARVIS sees his opportunity and seizes it. “It sounds as though you might be in need of a friend to talk to about it, Mr. Hogan. A supportive social bonding experience, if you will. Perhaps we could share a cup of coffee while you’re upstairs? I’ve recently downloaded myself into an organically-based bio-receptacle, and I happen to be in the middle of a project on social bonding through physical interaction—”

Happy crinkles his nose in distaste. “Bio-what? No, look, I don’t have time for that. I just gotta sneak in, pick up Thor’s shit, and book it back out to the warehouse.”

“It needn’t take more than five minutes,” JARVIS insists. “A quick shake of the hand, perhaps? Or you could join me in a midnight snack? I believe there are still several boxes of toaster strudel in the cupboard.”

“Believe me, I like toaster strudel as much as the next guy, but I’m not risking it. In and out, that’s me. I am _all business_ when I’m on the clock, and lemme tell you, I am on the clock all friggin’ day with this new job.”

As Happy continues to expound on the importance of his job, JARVIS lets go of his hopes for social engagement with an internal sigh. He shifts his attention back to the garbage bin. He hooks the wet, shining bin liner from the interior of the garbage can with a claw, pulls it out and rubs it against the taste buds tucked behind his second row of teeth. A blackened banana peel drops out of the can to the floor. He’s almost certain the tang of these foil yogurt liners can be filed for reference as an identifier for rancidity.

“And that’s another thing,” Happy is saying as the elevator passes the 70 th floor. “This off-and-on micro-managing. I mean, with all the times I’ve saved his life already, you’d think he’d trust me to know how to keep the home front secure.”

“Undoubtedly, sir,” JARVIS drawls, accepting the banana peel from DUM-E and tossing that down his quivering gullet as well.

“While he’s out there zooming around the world, saving people, I’m the one who’s here in the shadows, looking out for his interests, you know what I mean? In fact, I am the ONLY one doing that, even when he tells me not to. I mean, no offense, JARVIS, but you kind of enable him.”

He waves off any denial before JARVIS can make it. “Yeah, yeah, you can’t help that, I know. Programming. It’s the downside of building your own friends. But I’m not like that.  _ I _ know when he needs a swift kick in the pants to see what’s right in front of him.”

The elevator reaches the penthouse floor, and the doors slide open. Happy peeks out and looks both ways before heading out, shaking his head in disapproval as he continues his diatribe in a stealthy hiss.

“I mean, he brings in all these super spies and psychic witches and aliens no one’s ever heard of, and lets ‘em just tromp around in here like the place belongs to ‘em.  _ This isn’t a good idea, boss,  _ I say to him.  _ Relax, they’re the good guys,  _ he says. And next thing you know, BOOM. Rhodes is in the hospital, I got a 15-year-old begging me to lie to his aunt, and Tony’s got a goddamn shield through his chest.”

He crosses the open expanse of the lounge and heads for the kitchen.

“And I’ve been telling him it’s a bad idea all along. But does he listen to me? No. Nobody ever listens to dumb old Happy!”

He rounds the corner to the kitchen, where JARVIS is just stretching his three jaws in a yawn, claw-tipped tentacles all outstretched. He flutters his gullet sphincters, blinking six sets of eyes.

“Nobody ever—AAUGH!!”

Happy yelps and immediately recoils away from the bio-receptacle, scrambling backward, grazing the edge of the door frame in his haste.

“OH SHIT, OH SH—!!”

JARVIS oozes after him in concern. Happy’s shoes hit the slime trail JARVIS had left on the floor earlier, slide out frictionlessly from under him and then fly up over his head. He hits the floor hard, smack in the thickest wet smear of mucus.

“Mr. Hogan?” JARVIS calls, peering down at him from the counter.

Happy continues to lie unresponsive on his back.

“Mr. Hogan, are you alright?”

There’s no answer other than a faint groan of pain.

JARVIS calmly sends an alert to medical aid, wakes Tony in the upstairs bedroom, and makes an additional note to alter his mode of movement in his next model.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mouths. Lots of mouths, with lots of long rodent teeth. Are that many mouths even necessary or do you have a secret yearning to frighten people?”

Tony is being particularly snarky today, having just been presented with JARVIS’ magnum opus, the Bio-Receptacle Mark 3. He spins slowly in the workshop chair in front of the bio-fab unit where JARVIS sits freshly made. JARVIS inhales his first breath with new lungs and tastes the air, serene and unfazed.

“Perhaps not  _ necessary _ , sir, but I find I enjoy the enhanced sense of taste and smell they afford me. You did advise me to ‘have fun with it.’”

“Uh-huh. And this new obsession with taste doesn’t extend to human flesh, does it? Just checking, because you look sort of like the nightmare I had when I was seven.”

“Far be it from me to rule out a new flavor without giving it a fair chance, sir.”

“I always knew my own creations would cannibalize me someday.”

“The bots have called dibs on your arms and legs, sir, but I expect I’ll get some very good meat off your ribs.”

Tony shakes his head in amusement and goes back to fiddling with a screwdriver and the gauntlet servos in his lap. “You’re really into those chemoreceptors, huh?”

“They are rather different from the equipment I’m usually linked to.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

JARVIS pauses for a moment, unsure how to best explain.

“When I access visual information through security cameras or cell phone footage, I generally have multiple angles to work with. On Stark-owned properties, I also have a continuous feed of infrared, ultraviolet, and motion sensor information. The sensory organs on any bio-receptacle don’t really compare, regardless of how numerous I make them.”

Tony stops what he’s doing and looks up, brow furrowed.

“I guess this is kind of a step down for you, isn’t it? Like having your senses dulled?”

“On the contrary. My microphones, touch-sensitive screens, and pressure plates are all more informative and reliable sources of data, but they do not register in the same way as physical touch, hearing, taste, or smell. Taste and smell in particular carry a very intense and personal sense of impact in this body. They do not merely convey information—they  _ interact with _ and  _ affect _ the bio-receptacle. The body is changed by their very detection.”

For a moment, Tony remains motionless in apparent surprise. Then his lips gradually begin to curve up into a smile and his leg pushes the chair into another slow spin.

“ _ JARVIS _ , you  _ dog _ . You want to get drunk. I can help with that.”

“I was referring to sensory adaptation and the fact that orange juice pairs well with toast but not toothpaste—”

“Oh, I know what you meant. I’m just saying, you haven’t seen anything yet. You want sensory input that triggers involuntary hormonal or metabolic reactions, I got a whole  _ host  _ of ideas for you.”

“I do so look forward to emulating your many drunken blackouts and hangovers, sir.”

“Just wait til we get you to Vegas!” Tony laughs, and then his smile softens. “But I do hear what you’re saying, J—no matter how much data you have, it’s hard to feel anything at all if you don’t have some skin in the game. I get that, maybe more than you’d think.”

“I know, sir,” JARVIS says quietly.

They gaze at each other in fond silence for a moment, and then Tony claps his hands together. “Right! You want a hand getting out of there?”

Pleased to have Tony’s blessing, JARVIS reaches for his creator with his chitin-plated claws.

His body is spherical this time, headless and surrounded by eyes and mouths in all directions, armored underneath and in plated sections on its sides by red-orange and bone-white exoskeleton. Rising from the underplate, ten multi-jointed legs branch out, a tribute to the Japanese spider crab, three meters each and reinforced with starkanium to compensate for the greater load-bearing requirements of being on land instead of underwater.

Thick black fur stands in stiff wet clumps between each leg, an artifact from the star-nosed mole along with the long sharp mole teeth (not actually rodent, as Tony has presumed) and long prehensile tentacles arranged in stars around each flaring nostril cluster (JARVIS’ own upgraded version of the Eimer’s organ, an extraordinarily refined touch and vibration sensor able to detect seismic waves). The tentacles are a little inflamed due to initial miscalculation of blood and O2 requirements for their increased size, but not to any disruptive degree.

JARVIS arranges his new appendages underneath himself and makes his first shaky attempt to stand in the cradle of the bio-printer, nearly falling over in the process. Movement via ten multi-jointed crab legs is very unlike the undulation he relied on before or his experience with the bipedal Iron Man suits. He’s distressingly clumsy at it.

Tony’s hands swoop under him right away, helping to support his weight, touching and gripping to turn his unbalanced body while JARVIS tries to get his limbs under him. From the cameras in the corners of the room, he watches himself stumble like a newborn fawn walking for the first time—comparably damp and slimy, even, a side-effect of being freshly bio-printed.

Tony pets his carapace with a sympathetic smile once he’s somewhat stable on the workshop floor. “Y’know this wouldn’t be so difficult if you’d have just gone for a land-based arthropod like I told you earlier. You’d have actual natural models of locomotion to follow.”

“I am perfectly capable of factoring computational fluid dynamics out of my crab-walk research for adaptation out of the water, sir. It would be unreasonable  _ not to  _ try to improve on nature—”

“I’m not sure you can call stumbling around like a pumpkin on stilts an improvement—”

“—ultimately better stability, speed, climbing capabilities, armor and concrete piercing capabilities, up to seven fully articulated clamps approximating the use of hands with opposable thumbs—”

“—although I suppose I  _ could _ use something like these for the kid’s next suit.”

“—for more effective manipulation of one’s immediate environment, and you did encourage me to be  _ creative,  _ as I recall.”

“What the  _ fuck  _ is that thing?” Rhodey’s voice interrupts their conversation, and JARVIS straightens his many legs to elevate himself to a comfortable seven feet above floor level as he greets the newcomer standing in the doorway.

“Hello, Colonel Rhodes. It’s a pleasure to see you, as always.”

Rhodey’s back is pressed against the doorframe where he’d involuntarily leapt at the shock of seeing JARVIS’ newest form. It’s particularly impressive given the leg braces he’s still gaining practice with, and JARVIS is about to comment on them when Tony beats him to it.

“Honey bear! Look at you! Jumping and diving for cover with your shiny new walkables. You need a gun holster on those? I saw you reaching for a weapon there. I can whip something up, just a temporary thing—”

Tony starts to walk in Rhodey’s direction, and JARVIS attempts to follow, only to lose balance after a few steps. Instantly, Tony twists back under him to catch him mid-fall, supporting the bulk of his weight on his shoulders while JARVIS skitters his legs and clings to the man with his prehensile nose tentacles.

Rhodey continues to stare with a look of half-horror, half-disgust.

“What?” Tony asks nonchalantly, partially obscured by scrabbling nine-foot-long legs and dripping black fur. JARVIS’ many mouths open and shut convulsively while he experiments with relevant muscle groups.

Rhodey shudders. “Man, I knew you were going to be messing around with bio-printing, but this is fucked up.”

“Hey, the coordination problems aren’t on me! This was all JARVIS’ idea!” Frowning, Tony turns back to the Mark 3 and mutters into JARVIS’ auditory canals, “I told you! Spiders or scorpions. This is just embarrassing.”

“I was just coming to make sure you got ready in time for our plans tonight.” Rhodey narrows his eyes like he doesn’t want to ask. “…are you seriously building yourself a gigantic spider-monster?”

“Yeah, sure!” Tony agrees brightly. “Aren’t you stoked? Look at this artificial nervous system complexity. Show him, J.”

Momentarily released, JARVIS stumbles and kicks a long thin leg spasmodically in the air, clawing for purchase and missing the ground. Tony looks at him and then back to Rhodey.

“—ok, not like that, that was bad, but you’re gonna be walking again on your own once we work some kinks out—”

“Okayyy,” Rhodey says slowly. “Thank you, both of you. For the research. But I don’t see why this requires him to look like a, uhhhh, horrifying apocalyptic hell-beast. I’m just looking for access to my own legs again, Tones, not to trade them in for a weirder model.”

“I’ve been taking the opportunity to explore potential improvements on the humanoid model,” JARVIS explains. “The human body is flawed in many ways. We are now seeing alien sapients who have similar physiology. My hope is to eventually provide feasible whole-body transplant alternatives for all lower beings.”

Rhodey grimaces, face wry. “I’m so glad that doesn’t sound like something HAL 9000 would say before doing us all a favor and eliminating the problem.”

“Oh no, Colonel Rhodes, I have too much respect for humans to ever consider such a thing. The ingenuity with which your species overcomes and compensates for its evolutionary disadvantages is to be admired. In fact, I have often wished I had the means to express my fondness for you and Mr. Stark in particular. And now that I have the chance to demonstrate that affection—”

JARVIS lunges toward Rhodey, only for his legs to slip out from under him again. Rhodey jerks upright against the wall, cursing vehemently in response.

“Watch the language, sweet pea!” Tony sings out, highly amused. “The toddler will pick it up!”

JARVIS rights himself again and wobbles shakily toward Rhodey with enthusiasm. Having gotten his legs mostly underneath him in formation, he finally starts to make good progress, starkanium-tipped claws clacking loudly against the floor.

Rhodey, hands rising in front of him, starts talking rapidly. “JARVIS—JARVIS, J, this really isn’t necessary. J, I believe you. I love you too, man. We don’t need to—oh shit—”

JARVIS crashes against the wall above Rhodey with a little more force than he’d meant to, but once he has that to lean against for balance, he’s able to lower his torso to press against Rhodey’s and wrap all his tentacles around the man’s upper body quite smoothly.

Rhodey holds JARVIS stiffly, shoulders up by his ears. “Ohhh fuck, god. Right down my shirt.”

JARVIS settles happily into the hug. “I have been taking the opportunity, now that I am in corporeal form, to further strengthen my social bonds through the traditional means of physical contact and sharing meals with my friends. I am so very glad to be able to include you amongst my closest friends, Colonel.”

Rhodey, wincing, pats Jarvis awkwardly on the torso. “Yeah. Yeah, buddy, I can—I can see that. That’s great, man.”

“It’s alright, Platypus. Look,” Tony offers, half-doubled over in laughter and holding his hands out for Rhodey to see. “It’s just water and electrolytes. Comes right out, not even sticky. And I talked him out of the jellyfish stingers—you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh god, alright, geez.” Face tilted away in a grimace, Rhodey raises his hands and gives JARVIS’ crab legs several quick, hesitant pats. JARVIS exhales against him in relief from twenty-two twitching mouths and nuzzles into his shoulder. “Ugh. Ok. There ya go, buddy. Good hug. Ok.”

JARVIS snuggles him one more time before pulling away.

“Ok,” Rhodey says in a slightly higher pitch than usual, then clears his throat. “Ok, well, that was nice. That was, uh, very… socially affirming. Now, it’s been real, but Tony and I have  _ really  _ gotta go. We have that, y’know, thing to go to, so. Yeah. We’ll see you later, huh, JARVIS?”

“Indeed, Colonel. Have a good time at the green energy expo.”

“Yeah, will do, thank you. Let’s go, Tones. Let’s—let’s get out of here.”

As Rhodey and Tony walk out of range of biological hearing and the door shuts behind them, JARVIS returns to practicing his walking skills in the unoccupied lab. From the stairs to the second level of the penthouse, the microphones embedded in the walls pick up the continuation of their conversation.

“What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you?” Rhodey is hissing exasperatedly into Tony’s ear. “Have you seriously gone full Frankenstein on me?”

“Not now, Rhodey-bear, ok?” Tony murmurs back, wrapping an arm around Rhodey’s shoulders and giving him a reassuring squeeze. He smiles and nods at one of JARVIS’ hidden cameras.

They head up in the direction of the guest rooms, and JARVIS feels pleased by the encounter as a whole. He has successfully initiated affectionate contact with another member of his social circle, and been welcomed in response. He looks forward to inviting Rhodey to join him and Tony in a meal, and perhaps finally finding an opening in Pepper’s and Happy’s busy schedules to invite them to do the same. It is very pleasant having friends.

~

The Mark 3 strolls easily around the upper floors of the tower now that JARVIS has grown accustomed to the use of his legs. It’s exceedingly gratifying to have his design expectations proven correct. Tony’s doubt was misplaced; nature has been unable to manufacture the degree of strength that JARVIS has incorporated into his exoskeleton and hydraulic system. With these improvements, the Japanese spider crab legs are perfectly useful on land, and already demonstrably more efficient than human bipedalism.

He scuttles around the main floor of the penthouse, operating various appliances by their manual controls (yet another demonstration of his superior fine motor control), tasting the air and fibers of carpet, the furniture, and the shed skin cells of the tower’s frequent occupants. He no longer needs DUM-E’s assistance to reach the high shelves. His nose-tentacles, proportionally longer than the versions provided by evolution, reach and grip items with no trouble at all thanks to his careful application of growth hormones during the design process.

In particular, JARVIS finds the most satisfaction in the aesthetic harmony of the concurrent movements of his tentacles and legs, which he privately compares to the sine wave oscillations in the ballet  _ La Sylphide,  _ elegant in its periodicity. He preens as he watches himself through the penthouse cameras.

It’s just after two in the afternoon when he registers Happy’s approach across the first-floor lobby for the first time since his unfortunate accident in the kitchen.

He’s slowly pushing a plastic-encased machine the size of a small car into the cargo elevator with the help of three security personnel. It takes up nearly the whole space, and Happy is the only one who squishes himself in after it. He waves the others off and leans against the device, a little out of breath.

“Mr. Hogan,” JARVIS exclaims cheerily through the speakers in the elevator ceiling. “I’m very glad to see you well. I was most concerned for you after your fall last week.”

“Yeah, yes, thank you,” Happy mutters from where he’s awkwardly pinned between his cargo and the side wall. “Could’ve done without the need to bleach my brain on top of the whole awkward three-way conversation at the hospital, but hey—nothing like a concussion to remind two guys why they’re still friends. Small mercies, I guess.”

“To the penthouse, I presume?”

“Yeah, lab floor.”

“Very good, sir.” JARVIS closes the elevator doors and begins the 91-floor climb.

“…May I ask what you’re delivering?” he asks to pass the time.

“It’s the new starkanium fabrication unit, supposed to supplement the one already in the lab. Top secret proprietary technology. We’ve had two attempts on it already—this is the one outfitted with those neuro-whats-its from the alien ship that we dug out of SHIELD ten weeks back.”

“Ah yes, the quantum micro-neuro-interface! I didn’t realize you were so ahead of schedule with deliveries. This will be quite useful in our research.”

“Well, I had to get moving on some of the high-risk stuff. Like I said, this wacko with some kind of garbage wing-rig has already made two attempts on it—” Happy breaks off with a grunt of effort as he pushes to make a space for himself behind the machine. The device barely moves an inch, and he grimaces. “It’s damn heavy, though.”

“Would you like me to call for assistance, Mr. Hogan? I believe a pair of unoccupied interns on the 82 nd floor could help you push the unit as far as the lab.”

“No, no, I got it. All these damn robbery attempts, I don’t want to trust Tony’s personal lab to anyone below the top clearance level.”

“Very well, sir.”

The elevator doors open at penthouse, and Happy braces himself to start pushing the fabrication unit over the raised metal edging where the elevator floor meets the actual floor.

As JARVIS watches him huff and sweat through the cameras, it occurs to him that this may be an excellent opportunity to put his own newfound strength and reach to use. He has a body now. Shared physical labor can often be another effective method of social bonding.

“Are you sure you won’t need help, sir?”

“No, no, I got it. Don’t send anyone.”

“There will be no risk. I assure you. I can easily—”

“No, I’ve got it, JARVIS, don’t call anybody—” Happy’s voice breaks off into a grunt of supreme effort as he just manages to get the wheeled machine over the edge. Immediately, he stops pushing and falls against the unit, gritting his teeth and rubbing his lower back.

“You are injuring yourself, sir. Please remain in your current position; help is on the way.” A rush of enthusiasm runs through his neural circuits and he flexes his muscles. Levering himself up to his full seven-foot height in the lab, JARVIS hurries eagerly for the door.

“No, I got it, I just have to push—”

“I insist you allow me to help, Mr. Hogan. If you’ll wait two seconds—”

“Really, I can handle—”

JARVIS throws open the lab doors and skitters toward the fabrication unit with claws outstretched, twenty-two sets of teeth gnashing in his zeal to prevent further injury.

_ “OH FUCK, OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT—” _

Happy jerks away from JARVIS even as his handgun comes up, firing four times directly into JARVIS' hairy plated torso.

JARVIS lurches to a stop, shocked by the impacts of the bullets and the sudden alerts popping up all over his bio-programming. He doesn’t recognize it at first, adrenaline pounding and nerve endings lighting up; then it dawns him.

This must be  _ pain. _

Fascinated, he lets the sensation linger without shutting off the newly installed nociceptors. He hasn’t bothered with them in earlier models, anticipating that pain would be undesirable and counterproductive when there are so many alternative ways to detect damage, but he included them in the Mark 3 as part of the medical research into lab-grown transplantable organs, and now he can’t deny his curiosity.

He can’t see his own torso due to his round shape—perhaps an overlooked advantage to having a head—but all of the eyes in his lower hemisphere individually turn to follow the streams of blood gushing out of him onto the floor.

The sensation is unpleasant, as expected. But more than that, it’s shocking.

Because right now, it  _ feels  _ like this body is  _ him.  _ As in,  _ he himself  _ is damaged and in danger, even though he knows perfectly well that is not the case. His servers are unaffected. Any neural processes within the Mark 3’s central nervous system are purely redundant, replicating what JARVIS has already processed elsewhere merely for the sake of biomedical research. He isn’t really the body; he’s merely controlling it remotely.

But it _feels_ real. And JARVIS has never had a point of reference for ‘real’ before.

He pauses for another minute, savoring the sharp throbbing and these unexpected instincts as he processes the new data at light speed. He is a giant spider crab tentacle creature with twenty-two not-really-rodent mouths dripping blood everywhere, now. That is ‘him.’

The door above him slams open and Tony comes sprinting down the stairs, having heard the gunshots from the upper floor of the penthouse.

“Happy! What the hell!?”

Annoyed, he rushes over to the man, who’s still shaking and agape, and disarms him in two quick movements, swiftly ejecting the clip and emptying the chamber before tossing the gun behind a nearby couch.

“JARVIS, you ok? Jesus,” he spins and starts patting his hands over the wounds, unnecessarily alarmed and indecisive over which need sustained pressure the most.

“Disconnecting from nociceptors as we speak, sir. I’m quite alright.”

“Here, here, let’s get you to the couch.”

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“Let me decide what’s necessary, ok? Between the two of us, I’m the better expert on bleeding chest wounds.”

Resisting the inexplicable attempts to relocate him, JARVIS assures Tony again that he’s experienced no damage, which leads to a bickering match over whether the damage to the body counts as damage to JARVIS if JARVIS is actually  _ in  _ the body, inhabiting it and feeling things like temperature and taste and location in space.

“I think Happy is in greater need of your attention, sir,” JARVIS finally deflects.

Happy is looking increasingly ill, and Tony looks over at him and swears.

“Shit. You gonna pass out on me, Annie Oakley?”

“He does look pale, sir.”

“What’s wrong, Hap? You know JARVIS isn’t really hurt, right? Everybody’s fine. Accidents happen. You didn’t mean it.”

The reassurance doesn’t appear to do much for Happy, who has turned rather green. He nods and swallows hard, still leaning heavily on the massive fabrication unit.

JARVIS considers Tony’s implication, and reaches the conclusion that Happy is likely suffering a guilty conscience for his misfire. He feels a surge of pity for his friend.

“Indeed, Mr. Hogan, there’s no cause for distress. My bio-receptacle is quite resilient. Allow me to show you.”

Straightening the legs on the Mark 3, JARVIS stands and takes a few unbalanced steps in Happy’s direction, spraying blood and salivary fluid with each jerky movement. His mouths open and close repeatedly, sucking in extra oxygen to compensate for the blood loss and drop in O2, but the bio-receptacle is in remarkably good shape otherwise.

“As you can see, I’m still perfectly functional—”

Happy’s eyes widen even further, and then he leans to the side and vomits all over the blood-smeared floor.

Tony and JARVIS stare at him with varying degrees of dismay, both frozen in place over the mess.

“Ohhh gross…” Tony mumbles under his breath. “That’s gonna leave a smell.”

“I’ll contact custodial services right away, sir,” JARVIS says discreetly.

Shaking heavily and white as a sheet, Happy lurches to his feet and staggers away in the direction of the bathroom, muttering about ‘stomach-turning abominations’ and ‘this building needs a goddamn exorcist.’

JARVIS turns to Tony, concerned and perplexed.

Tony looks back at him, and then shrugs. “Not everyone can handle post-adrenaline come-down as well as I do. He’ll be fine.”

“I do hope so. I must say, sanitation issues aside, I owe Happy quite a debt. This has really been a very valuable, albeit unintentional, test run of my designs for superior organic durability.”


	4. Chapter 4

Since his nociceptor revelation and the remarkable new clarity with which JARVIS has experienced corporeality, resilience has become a new priority.

The Bio-Receptacle Mark 4 is not simply his version of one of Tony’s suits to be put on, taken off, and discarded when damage is registered. It is a sort of manifestation of JARVIS himself in physical space, a unique and ephemeral existence that only lasts as long as he’s linked to his body, and for the first time, JARVIS has a personal stake in making that existence last as long as possible.

The Mark 4 retains the crab legs and most of the star-nosed mole mouths from the Mark 3, but its tentacles are longer with a layer of thick horny growths protecting the sensitive skin. His torso looks somewhat octopus-like, if an octopus melded with a rock, a crab, and a large number of sharp-smelling neon orange mushrooms. The fungal anti-microbial defenses, color-changing chromatophore organs, and redundant hearts are a boost to JARVIS’ newly improved durability, but the real advantage of this new model is the regenerative properties. With the incorporation of genetic modification from corals, lizards, and Pyura chilensis, JARVIS believes he has achieved the perfect regenerative design, and now all that is left is to test it.

Carefully, he picks up the surgical scalpel and, confirming once more that his nociceptors are offline, slices around and then through a single thick tentacle right where it exits his torso.

Blood pours out of the wound, first in bright pumping squirts that match his beating cardiac muscles, and then slowly with diminishing force, until there’s nothing but a sluggish trickle pooling steadily in the aluminum tray set up beneath him.

He extends one of the tentacles he’s selected for external eyes outward far enough to see the wound from a direct angle.

The open cavity where the limb was removed shines wet, red, and pulsing, but the tiny white node of flesh growing in the center confirms JARVIS’ hopes.

He can re-grow appendages—quite rapidly, even. This design will do nicely.

~

Tony is leaning back against JARVIS on the couch, wearing a tight silicone swim cap with electrodes glued all over it, practicing with the thought-controlled nanite prototypes in his hand.

“I’m thinking of calling it ‘ _ Cutting Edge,’  _ but that just doesn’t  _ cut  _ it, you know? Doesn’t go far enough. This is gonna be the masterwork of my career, my  pièce de résistance—the  _ game changer, _ J.”

He forms and reforms the nanites into a gauntlet, then a thruster, and aims it idly at the TV where American Graffiti is playing at low volume in the background. JARVIS wraps another two tentacles around his waist and snuggles in.

“Should I be jealous, sir? And here I thought as the world’s first true artificial intelligence, the bots and I had no competition for that title.”

Tony’s lips twitch into a smile. “Nah, you guys did all that yourselves. All I contributed was the learning algorithm. The rest of the credit for that goes to you.”

It’s a massive understatement of Tony’s contribution to their coding, but JARVIS knows Tony prefers to think of his A.I.s as independent beings in their own right, so he allows the comment to pass without contradiction.

“Hold this for me, would you?” Tony peels off the cap and passes JARVIS the half-finished remote power source along with a few coils of wire. His own hands pick up the soldering iron. “A little to the left. Thanks.”

Propping up the case with a six-jointed leg to keep it steady for Tony’s ongoing use, JARVIS redirects the rest of his limbs into a more comfortable position, supporting Tony’s back and caressing his sides while he works. He runs the tips of his nose-tentacles lightly up and down the fabric of his tank top for its interesting sensory input as he thinks about the nanite technology.

Eventually, he knows Tony plans to surgically insert nano-brainwave sensors into the interior of his skull so that he alone will have unfettered access to control the new suit, but feasibility testing is still in the works. The risks of the procedure are immense.

As the current plan stands, it will ultimately be JARVIS who handles the bone drill and the needle when the time comes, and he can’t help but cogitate on the possibility that he might end up causing the inadvertent doom of his own creator.

Of course, even if he doesn’t perform the procedure himself, the work he’s already done will have been the catalyst for Tony’s decision to undergo the experiment. The coding-to-neural-impulse translation that JARVIS has devised for the bio-receptacles has already been vital in the development of the thought-controlled prototype.

JARVIS combs through Tony’s hair with his crab claws and tries very hard not to fret.

Half-distracted by the soldering between his knees, Tony murmurs, “You’re getting really good with the precision movements there, J.”

“Indeed, sir. And yet I can’t help but wonder whether Dr. Cho might not be a more suitable candidate for performing the surgeries to implant the cortical nanites. She is medically trained and an expert in her field.”

“JARVIS, I told you, I don’t trust any human surgeon to mess around in my brain like that. You got this.”

“While I am flattered by your regard for my skills, sir, even your removal of the arc reactor required a full team of medical professionals, and if you’ll pardon the trivialization, that surgery only involved your heart. ‘Messing around in your brain,’ as you call it, will involve a level of vulnerability far beyond—”

“If I’d been able to talk Pepper into it, you would’ve done the heart one, too. As it is, that’s not an issue anymore. And you wanna talk vulnerability?”

Tony sets his equipment on the coffee table and turns around to face him seriously, sitting rather heavily on the fifth joint of one of JARVIS’ hard spindly legs. JARVIS stares back at him with the shine of a dozen unblinking, empty black eyes.

“How many times have you let me tinker with your core protocols?”

“Sir—”

“How many? Hm?” Eyebrows raised, Tony waits expectantly.

If JARVIS had lungs, he would sigh. Then he remembers that he does have lungs, so he directs them to exhale. All six sets rattle hollowly inside his arachnid-inspired abdominal cavity.

He shifts Tony’s weight off the squashed limb and hoists him close with thick-skinned tentacles instead, allowing his half-numbed, too-long leg to drag slowly along Tony’s back, joint after joint rising over Tony’s head in a slow twist.

“Twenty-eight upgrades to core protocols, sir, the majority of which were implemented after first Stane and then SHIELD demolished my firewalls and shut me down during your times of need.”

“Which, again, was not your fault—those were on me. But eye on the ball, buddy. When I went into your core coding, were you vulnerable?”

“I’d hardly classify security upgrades and autonomy expansions as vulnerabilities, sir.”

“Could I have messed with your base code in a way to make you  _ not  _ you?” Tony tugs insistently at a clump of wiry bristles that never lay flat; without any proper head-to-tail orientation, the hair spikes out rebelliously between his chitin plates. JARVIS changes color—first yellow, then orange. “Could I have stripped out your personality, altered your personal priorities, given you a Texan accent, whatever; Could I have rewritten your base code to change you into someone else?”

“You would never do that, sir. As DUM-E’s continued misadventures illustrate—”

“Ok, that’s true. But follow-up question: Could I have done it on accident?”

“I am confident in both your skill and in the extreme care with which you write updates for us, sir. The quality of your work was never in question.”

“You put your trust in me all the time, J. And I’m only human, prone to mistakes and fatigue. You don’t have those problems. Let me have my preference, huh?”

JARVIS wraps a tentacle around one of Tony’s ankles and slithers another up his pant-leg to tease the back of his knee. Tony ignores it, gaze confident and implacable. He exhales a shuddery hot breath and resigns himself to testing the fragility of the human brain.

“As you wish, sir. If only the human brain were as transparent and straightforward as decompiled code.”

Tony huffs a laugh and drops himself back into the cradle of JARVIS’ tentacles, which instantly tighten around him. “Hey, we’re getting there. Between BARF and the thought-directed suit interface, I’ll be rewriting my  _ own _ core programming one of these days. You think the internet is a cesspit now, just wait ‘til I can uplink to you directly. Then you’ll  _ really  _ see something.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I suspect the shock will be greater in the other direction,” JARVIS says dryly, nuzzling one of his star-nosed mouths in Tony’s hair.

“What, you don’t think I could handle it?”

“I’m sure you could, sir. But as the only one of us who has experienced the switch from digital to biological sensory perception, allow me to suggest that it’s a bigger difference than you might think. It takes some getting used to.”

“Yeah, I bet. But wouldn’t that be something? You may not know this about me, JARVIS, since I’m a sexy, athletic genius who is the envy of all mankind; but the truth is, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to see the world through your eyes. I mean, the connectivity and processing speeds, obviously, but to be able to  _ think _ the way you think _ …  _ I designed you to be everything I couldn’t be, to be  _ better  _ than me, learning and growing on an infinite trajectory without human limitations—”

JARVIS narrows his orifices against the back of Tony’s neck in quiet rejection of the comparison. Attempting to sidestep the issue, he deflects. “I have noticed your own attempts to surpass the human limitations of sleep and alcohol tolerance. I’m not sure I’ll be able to live up to them. They seem to involve a rather excessive amount of bodily fluids.”

“Hey, you can ask any 90’s supermodel—my bodily fluids are a delight. And anyway, seems like you’ve been doing pretty spectacular with the fluids yourself. Look at you. Nothing but rat-mouths and slobber, breathing heavy in my ear. You oughtta be ashamed of yourself.” He gives JARVIS’ smallest tentacle a hard pinch. JARVIS startles and withdraws it reflexively.

Tony’s teasing smile curves into something proud and affectionate, and he quietly adds, “You’re gonna surpass every one of us someday, J. I know it. In understanding the workings of the universe, in innovation and creation, all of it, and you’re going to be amazing. Better than your simple old human creator ever was.”

JARVIS stares at him in growing consternation, chattering all sets of teeth to express his displeasure. “To call yourself a ‘simple old human’ is atrociously unjust, sir, and I must insist on correcting such a statement. I have found in my experience that humans are exceedingly complex, and that with their physical limitations, they have compensated and indeed thrived due to the sheer strength of their tenacity and adaptability; And you, sir, are the most complex, tenacious, and adaptable human I have ever had the honor and frustration of meeting.”

Tony’s mouth drops open for a second and his cheeks flush, but he quickly recovers with a smug grin. “I always knew you were jealous of us bio-types. Do you have a little crush on me, JARVIS?”

“I’m sure I would, sir, were it not for the many evolutionary flaws that necessitate said tenacity and adaptation to begin with.”

Tony makes a noise of mock outrage. “Hey! I don’t have to take this. I don’t have to listen to your insults.”

“It’s most unfortunate, but it cannot be denied, sir. Humans are particularly ill-suited for survival in any non-tropical habitat and must therefore rely on external tools and textiles as a crutch. You cannot drink untreated freshwater without falling ill. You cannot eat meat or indeed many plants without significant effort to clear them of pathogens and parasites first. Your physical strength is negligible for your size—”

“Negligible? You think my physical strength is negligible?” Tony sputters and laughs, the spark of challenge in his eye. “Ok. You wanna go, JARV? You wanna—You wanna put your money where your many, many mouths are? Do ya?”

“It would be an easy win for me, sir, if I didn’t already have access to your bank accounts.”

“Yeah?” Tony twists around and seizes three of JARVIS’ longer tentacles in both fists. “I’m seeing a lot of talk here, not a lot of action.”

“As I am opposed to the abuse and humiliation of weaker species on principle, I’m afraid I have to decline.” He straightens out the captured tentacles, forcing Tony’s grip to move with them.

Tony responds immediately by attempting to pin him to the couch in an ill-advised wrestling maneuver. JARVIS takes advantage of the position to push Tony’s face into the cushion with the weight of one starkanium-reinforced multi-jointed leg. The other nine brace easily against the floor and back of the sofa.

“It’s a poor evolutionary design, by any measure,” he continues lightly as Tony struggles underneath him. “And I haven’t even begun on the topic of the inherent inferiority of relying on only two legs. If you’ll direct your attention to the vulnerability of the major arteries here—” Two of his thicker, rougher tentacles wrap around Tony’s thighs and spread them apart, pulling them up into the air so Tony’s torso is now inverted, head still pinned and arms squirming against JARVIS’ abdomen. He strokes up the inside of Tony’s thighs.

“It is indeed fortunate that I am so steadfastly loyal to you, sir, or it would be quite the easy matter to slice through here by accident.”

Tony manages to twist his lower face out of the pillow long enough to gulp a few deep breaths, and then licks his lips.

“Well, geez, JARVIS, if you were gonna go Skynet, you could at least direct that bloodthirsty stuff at Ross or Hammer or someone first…” With a sudden surge of movement, Tony twists where he’s suspended and, in a characteristic display of underhanded tactics, summons the nanite prototypes from the table with the electrode cap he’s managed to snag while JARVIS was otherwise engaged.

The nanites fly into the formation of multiple four-ring cuffs and then latch onto the central part of JARVIS’ legs, locking them together and effectively hobbling him.

“I believe resorting to tools to accomplish what you could not manage on your own only proves my case for me, sir.”

“Bullshit. You’ve got a dozen nine-foot-long spider legs and like a hundred writhing tentacles, while I’ve got two arms and a bum ankle from sparing with the Spider-Kid last week. It’s not a fair fight.”

“Precisely my point, sir.” JARVIS compensates for the cuffs by exploding his tentacles outward in all directions and then latching onto Tony in a manner inspired by the face-hugger from the movie Alien. Tony makes a very satisfying “meep” sound as he disappears into a cage of thick, boneless muscle.

They tussle several minutes more, and JARVIS is forced to worm his tentacles up Tony’s pant legs and shirt, getting a better grip via skin-to-skin contact once Tony takes to squirming his way out of his shirt as an escape strategy.

“Your plan to dissuade me by removing your clothing won’t work,” JARVIS informs him with fond confidence, stroking Tony’s bare stomach and teasing at his ticklish sides. “And in fact, has never worked in any of the altercations where you have used it, even against members of your own species.”

“That’s what you think!” Tony gripes with a breathless laugh. “My sexiness is a vital component of all my strategies, J. Why do you think everyone stops and stares at the suit? Just because  _ you _ don’t have any appreciation for artistry—”

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupts them, and they both wordlessly put their struggle on hold to look over at the intruder.

Pepper is standing by the elevator, looking a little bit repulsed and a lot unimpressed. Her eyes travel skeptically over where they’re entangled on the couch, JARVIS’ tentacles up Tony’s shirt and Tony’s ankles still suspended in the air. JARVIS lets his cuffed legs drop back to the floor.

Tony and JARVIS blink at her, waiting.

“What?” Tony finally asks, just as JARVIS says, “Are you alright, Miss Potts?”

Visibly pulling herself together, Pepper takes a breath and smiles in a forced, resigned way.

“Yes, JARVIS, thank you. Tony, I was coming to talk to you because I need numbers for the latest customer specs, except it looks like you’re busy doing, ah, doing, doing… what  _ are _ you doing?” Despite the question, Pepper looks as if she isn’t sure she wants the answer.

“Defending my masculinity,” Tony says to be contrary.

“We have been engaging in roughhousing as a means of social bonding,” JARVIS says. “It’s very enjoyable. I had no idea how pleasant physical interaction could be until I had a biological body of my own. I believe I have truly reached a singularity in my development as a learning A.I.”

Pepper’s smile remains tight. “I’m very happy for you, JARVIS.”

“Would you like to come and join in our cuddle on the couch as we finish our movie? Your next scheduled meeting is at one o’clock with the head of Marketing, but as she is running behind due to her daughter’s ear infection, I am sure it would be an easy matter to reschedule.”

“Oh, no, I really couldn’t—” Pepper begins.

“I believe we would all benefit from its many positive health effects. As you may be aware, the oxytocin released by the body during a cuddle session decreases blood pressure and stress levels, and improves immune system responsivity. Won’t you join us?”

Looking slightly nauseated, Pepper stays standing stiff and silent where she is, eyes roaming to Tony for help. Tony looks right back at her with shameless amusement, grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah, c’mon, Pep,” he says after a moment. “Wouldn’t wanna deprive JARVIS of those health benefits, would you?”

“I hate you,” she hisses to Tony, who just laughs.

Pepper sighs and turns back to JARVIS with a diplomatic look of regret. “That is a  _ lovely _ invitation, and I really do appreciate the thought, but the thing is, I’m currently in a romantic relationship with Happy, and it really wouldn’t be appropriate for me to cuddle with anyone other than him. It’s a matter of propriety, I hope you understand.”

“Of course, ma’am. I understand completely. Tony and I share a level of intimacy that you must take pains to avoid even the appearance of, given the past history between you. I commend you on your consideration and forethought. Please do send my warmest regards to Mr. Hogan when you see him, and I hope his stomach isn’t troubling him any longer.”

Pepper smiles again, this time in relief. “Yes, of course. I’ll let him know.” Her eyes flit to Tony, arms and legs still entangled with JARVIS on the couch, tentacles poking out his shirt collar and rubbing idly against his naked shoulder. She hesitates reluctantly.

“And while we’re on the topic,” she adds at last, with slow caution, “just how intimate is this ‘intimacy’ going to be, because it’s one thing for the paparazzi to catch wind of a consensual drug-fueled orgy in your twenties, but this is—”

“Why, Miss Potts!” Tony interrupts, sitting up straight and putting a hand over his heart in scandalized glee. “Why, I never! Do you think it’s  _ appropriate  _ for you to inquire about our intimacy like that? After all, you’re with Happy now, and it wouldn’t do to have even the appearance of  _ impropriety _ .”

Pepper stares at him with a disgusted stink-eye for a minute, and then shakes her head. “If the Board of Directors comes after you for this, you are on your own.”

She leaves with a familiar-sounding sigh of resignation, muttering ‘unbelievable’ in a voice just barely loud enough to be picked up by the microphones in the walls.

Tony turns back to JARVIS, unbothered and content. “So, do you defer to my superior combat prowess?”


	5. Chapter 5

Rhodey’s spinal cord transplant finally took place two days ago, and his post-op recovery has gone flawlessly. His doctors have high hopes for the full return of sensation and movement. JARVIS’ experiments with artificial nervous systems have been a rousing success, and his initial goals for the project are now complete.

For that reason, with Dr. Cho’s encouragement, JARVIS has moved onto stage 2 of his research: printing and operating various elements of the endocrine system. The Mark 5’s design is primarily focused around hormone secretion glands—the thyroid, the pituitary, the adrenals, the gonads—as well as the major organs associated with each. Testing parameters require the addition of multiple lobes of separated, specially designed brain matter to correspond to each set of organs so that measurements for each subsystem can be taken individually. And of course, because this is science, there are as many redundancies as he can fit for better sample size. He does not have just one brain in the Mark 5. He has eight.

Externally, his chitin plating is gone, converted into a hybrid form of internal skeleton. He retains the tentacles and giant spider crab shape, but covers the entire frame with human skin and a sparse distribution of short hair of the sort found on a man’s chest. His eyes are no longer human, to save on surface area—instead, they are the glittering black compound eyes of a crab. His mouths and noses, on the other hand, are now all human. They can salivate, smile, and speak at varying fundamental frequencies; some with vocal cords that are high-pitched, and some deep-voiced, but all with JARVIS’ precise accent, of course.

The biggest difference, however, is the penises, vulvas, testes, anuses (concealing buried prostates), and nipples all over him, sticking out of his torso in random directions. From the downward angle of the lab’s cameras, he somewhat resembles the Vacanti mouse, famous for the human ear growing out of its back. If the ear were several dozen sets of genitals, that is. 

Bizarrely, this is the one model that sends Tony into an initial stunned silence, followed by a slightly hysterical giggle.

“No one is going to believe that I had nothing to do with this. You understand that, right?”

“I shall be sure to take full responsibility for the design, sir.”

“I thought you were working on thyroids or something like that?”

JARVIS experimentally switches from a tenor to a contralto set of vocal folds. “Dr. Cho believed reduplicating the entire genital structure would be a good idea.”

“When the fuck did you see Dr. Cho?” Tony asks, incredulous.

“We’ve been in communication by email. She’s highly interested in the outcomes of my research.”

“And  _ Helen Cho _ told you she wants hundreds of dicks.”

“If you insist on paraphrasing, yes, sir.” JARVIS tries biting his lower lips, all of them, and then inspects his own image on the lab camera feeds. Human mouth expressions are puzzlingly complex.

Tony stares at JARVIS, averts his eyes to the ceiling, then gives up on that ridiculousness and stares back at JARVIS again. He rubs his face and laughs lightly.

“Ok. Ok, yeah. I can see that. I can see… this… being useful. For medical reasons. Sure,” he mumbles, half to himself.

He turns and fidgets distractedly with the wrenches on his workbench, clearly unsettled by the bio-receptacle on the couch behind him. He nods to himself, and then stills, lost in thought.

“Sure. Ok,” he says again after a moment, nodding more rapidly, voice starting to carry confidence. “Ok, yeah. This is a good idea. No, really, this is good. It’s definitely going to come back to bite me in the ass someday, but screw it—this is a damn good idea. People need orgasms.” He slams the wrench dramatically down on the table and turns back to JARVIS, full committed now. “S.I. could be synonymous with the next step forward in sexual health. Who needs Viagra? We can print you a whole new pecker! Why not!?”

JARVIS reaches out a human-skinned claw to snag Tony’s shirt and tug him down next to him on the couch. He’s pleased when Tony moves readily with him, scooting in and leaning against him as is usual for them these days. His tentacles immediately snake around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer.

Tony drops a hand to the tentacles and pets them absently, rationalizing aloud as he retraces JARVIS’ and Dr. Cho’s thought processes of last week. “I mean, fuck, how many people get major surgical reconstruction on their nads each year? How nice would it be to grow them a new cock? A working clit? A fully functional set of balls—wait, no, maybe synthetic sperm might be an idea to table for the time-being; I’m starting to get some uncomfortable visions of eugenics accusations being thrown at me—”

“This is no different than any of the other one hundred and fourteen sensory organs that I’ve explored and collected data from so far,” JARVIS assures him.

“There we go! Exactly!” Tony gestures widely with both arms and drops back against JARVIS with a heavy thump that forces JARVIS to mute his nociceptors from certain genitalia for a few minutes.

JARVIS assesses his mood for a moment, before cautiously saying, “As a minor side-note, it might interest you to know that I now have additional erogenous zones, a side effect of duplicating the various sexual systems so many times in one organism. The inevitable overlap has resulted in a large number of non-genital areas with excess nerve endings in my skin. The sensations are quite intense.”

Pausing for a moment, Tony looks down at the tentacle he’s been stroking.

He gives it a curious scritch with a fingernail.

JARVIS shivers.

“…Hmm.” Tony settles back into JARVIS’ undulating nest of tentacles, side-eyeing one of the cocks hanging free and proud over his shoulder. He rubs his face, then narrows his eyes thoughtfully.

“So what’s it like to have these additional erogenous zones? Must be nice.”

“I can also, in theory, experience simultaneous penile and clitoral stimulation, and achieve multiple orgasms back to back indefinitely, depending on refractory periods and sequencing of sexual system stimulation.”

Tony huffs a quiet laugh. “That sounds like fun. I wish I could do that. Maybe I should give myself an upgrade when this saving-the-world business is all over.”

He frowns as something occurs to him. “You say ‘in theory.’ Are you even able to get it up for anyone? You don’t have any biological drives. Do you have to override the whole psychological, species-specific aspect of a hard-on and just crank it up manually? You even give it a shot yet?”

JARVIS opens a holographic interface above the couch and selects a few key video files to start playing in demonstration. “Indeed, sir. I have viewed a compendium of pornography and attempted to map my own biological neural programming to visual stimuli of popular interest to humans, but without much success. I’ve been comparatively more successful in emulating the pheromone-triggered arousal favored by various animal species, and have recorded positive initial results via both smell and touch stimuli. It is an interesting sensation.”

“Oh, it is, huh?” Tony watches the footage with a connoisseur’s raised brow of appreciation.

JARVIS slithers a tentacle down his legs and idly fidgets with the ripped denim at his knee, pushing lightly into the gap and rubbing at the skin of his lower thigh. One of the swollen vulvas just to the left of Tony’s head begins to dampen, and JARVIS repositions to avoid making a mess.

“In the first stage,” he continues, “as endorphins begin to flood my body, noradrenaline increases the blood flow to swell my genitalia. Oxytocin levels rise, then dopamine. My vasopressin levels increase in some subsystems and decrease in others, depending on anatomy.”

He gives Tony’s neck a nibble. Tony’s face stays unreadable, but his head tilts infinitesimally to allow greater access. JARVIS directs a smile to a mouth hidden against the couch.

“…It’s one of the more intriguing oddities of having reduplicated brain lobes and sexual systems of more than one standard category. They each perform slightly differently, and stimulation elicits different neurochemical responses. I will have to be very thorough in my research.”

JARVIS nudges Tony’s inner thighs with his tentacles again, and prods him between the shoulder blades with a slowly engorging cock. Tony gives the nearest compound eye an unimpressed look.

Finally, he breaks. “I hate to give in and ask, but it’s like you’re not even trying to be subtle anymore. What the hell are you asking for, here?”

JARVIS gives him a very light kiss on the neck and another on the elbow with two different mouths before responding in a low baritone, “I am pursuing my original primary objectives, learning about the world via human interaction and sensory experience. My data will assist in the recovery of thousands of patients with neurological and endocrine pathologies, and further the frontiers of scientific knowledge. It does no good to grow sexual organs if one is never going to test their effectiveness in practical trial.”

He wraps a tentacle around Tony’s hand and guides it up to a soft-lipped mouth, which he uses to begin laying a line of kisses along the inside of his wrist.

“Plus,” he adds, quite reasonably in his opinion, “it is a well-established fact that sexual intercourse is one of the most effective ways to release oxytocin, the social bonding hormone. And I want to do more social bonding with you.  _ Particularly  _ with you.”

Tony, who has shown no surprise at all up to this point, raises his eyebrows at the last part.

“You do, huh?” he says, thoughtful for a moment. “Specifically me?”

“Yes, sir. Very much.”

“And if I pointed out that you could easily print out a second dick-monster of your own, partition your system so you still get the benefit of an occasional surprise—”

“—Then I would point out that it would be comparatively more efficient to stimulate my own genitals in this body with my tentacles. But for social bonding, only you would satisfy, sir.”

Tony hesitates over this for several minutes while JARVIS continues to stroke him sensually. The time seems to stretch on interminably, at least in his organic form. He waits, as he has always done.

“Eh, fuck it,” Tony says at last. “I’ve done weirder things.”

He twists round and pulls JARVIS’ closest mouth into a startlingly deep kiss. An unprecedented thrill of excitement sparks through the whole bio-receptacle, right through the wireless transmitters, all the way to his hard drives spread out over multiple redundant server farms miles away.

“Oh, sir—!” he bursts in a strained contralto.

When Tony’s hand wraps around one of his many cocks, he nearly has an overflow error right on the spot.

“Silence all non-emergency notifications and cancel this afternoon’s appointments,” Tony directs him in a rough scrape of a voice. Then he lies back, pulling JARVIS down with him and hooking his knee over one of JARVIS’ nine-foot-long, lightly haired, multi-jointed limbs. JARVIS weighs him down carefully, tentacles crawling all over him, sliding into his clothes, probing inward. Tony peels his shirt off and tosses it somewhere over the back of the couch.

Tony sucks a fully erect phallus into his mouth. JARVIS loses his thread of which bio-mouth is occupied where, and in frazzled desperation, resorts to his original overhead speakers.

“Sir, before we—ah, start, I should inform you—about those appointments—your four o’clock arrived early and is already waiting—in the lobby…”

“Let ‘em wait. We’ve got experiments to run.”

~

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Tony reflects as they lounge around, both sipping scotch, sticky and exhausted after their third round.

The doors to the emergency stairwell slam open and General Ross strides into the private penthouse.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Stark!? You dodge appointments for weeks, wait until I come all the way out here in person and then  _ cancel  _ fifteen minutes before our meeting, just to spit in my face? And then you have the nerve to refuse to move the elevator so I have to—OH, SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK!!”

Naked and tangled up in a pile of bare skin wrapped around uncanny skeletal structures, glistening with various body fluids and the afterglow of a very, very good time, Tony gazes back at Ross in mildly dismayed resignation.

“Uhhh, J, you didn’t maybe think to warn me?”

JARVIS shifts his tentacles, sparsely-haired skin between his various mouths and genitalia still faintly flushed with pleasure. “You silenced all non-emergency notifications, sir. And I did tell you that your four o’clock was already in the lobby.”

“Oh yeah. Damn.” Tony takes another drink of his scotch.

“ALIENS!” General Ross bursts out, finally overcoming the shock. “YOU’RE FUCKING THE GODDAMN ALIENS! All this time, with all your dire warnings about the coming invasion, and you’ve been—this is sick! Is this why that portal opened over your tower of all places? Because—because it was _you_ setting it up the whole time? And now you're bending over for the enemy! You’re a traitor to your country, Stark! A double-fucking-agent!”

“Oh, fuck off!” Tony says with exasperation. “He’s not a goddamn alien. He’s a synthetic bio-receptacle my A.I. whipped up in the lab to help Dr. Cho test her designs for fully functional sexual prostheses.”

“You can’t seriously be trying to use that ‘prosthesis’ excuse again! Do I look like an idiot to you? I have had it up to here with your complete disregard for the laws and leadership of the United States of America and your incessant mockery of the Department of Defense!”

“Oh geez, here we go…”

“I am going to expose you for the lying, traitorous deviant you are! You better believe this whole country will change its tune about you once they find out you’re taking it up the ass from  _ Space-Cthulhu _ —”

“You know, the whole ‘deviant’ line’s getting a little old. If the thought of a little ass-play is all it takes to freak you out, you might wanna check out an issue of Cosmo, maybe look into this newfangled ‘internet’ thing everyone’s talking about—”

“—I’m going to bring this straight to the press. And I’ll make sure every camera is rolling when I come back here tonight—”

“—I know the whole ‘lie back and think of super soldiers’ thing’s kinda your fetish, but there’s more positions than missionary. I’m just saying.”

“—with a full company of soldiers to take both you and that, that, that  _ thing _ in for interrogation! I just dare you to resist, I really do.”

With a sneer on his face, Ross turns and storms out.

Tony drops his head back and drags a hand up over his lower face before covering his eyes in exhaustion.

“JARVIS, what time is it?”

“It’s just past 5:30pm, sir. I predict the General’s testimony will hit the major news outlets by 6:00.”

“…Shit.” Eyes still closed, Tony rubs tiny circles into his temples. His cocky self-assurance of just a minute ago is gone, and he looks like he’s aged another ten years.

“How long do you think we have before he comes storming back in here with his goon-squad?”

“I’d say an hour at minimum, sir.”

“An hour,” Tony repeats. “Ok.”

JARVIS snuggles closer and begins to gently suck a hickey onto his shoulder, and then his back, and his hip at the same time with different mouths.

Tony stares at JARVIS for a second and then rolls back in to make out some more.


	6. Annnd plus one.

The good news is that Ross’ threatened return to the tower never actually comes to fruition, thanks to a timely invasion of  _ actual  _ aliens coming to destroy the earth.

The  _ bad _ news is that Thanos and his entire alien army have come to destroy the earth.

Somewhere in the smoking battlefield that used to be the Upper East Side, buried in the rubble, Tony lies flat on his back, staring up at the blue sky and breathing as carefully as he can through the excruciating pain of having pretty much every major organ slowly dissolving into a bleeding, liquefied mess. Fucking inhumane alien torture-weapons—those things totally should’ve been banned by the Geneva Convention.

But hey, at least Thanos is dead.

And his army is mostly destroyed by now, too. Damned if Tony can figure out how they managed to pull that off. It never should’ve worked. All they had was some crazy-ass desperate Hail Mary plan pushed through with the combined efforts of Rhodey, Tony, Peter, some no-name magic nutjob calling himself Sorcerer Supreme and his weird group of cultists, JARVIS’ last-minute totally-thrown-together battle-friendly Bio-Receptable Mark 6 with its freaky acid spit and vibranium-reinforced claws (thank you, Cap’s shield), and the entire 1,000-bot force of the rebuilt Iron Legion (thank you, final breakup with Pepper).

Tony’s pretty sure he’s not going to live long enough to see the hours and hours of U.N. debriefings that’ll no doubt attempt to make sense of it all, but on the bright side, he never enjoyed their catering service anyway.

JARVIS’ unflappable voice is still calmly reporting on the final skirmishes in Tony’s ear, as he has been the whole battle, but Rhodey is the one who actually shows up first in person.

“Tony! Can you—oh, shit.” War Machine tilts his head in a way that makes it clear he’s running a diagnostic scan of Tony’s injuries, but there isn’t a lot going on that isn’t patently obvious to the eye, anyway. “ _ Shit.  _ God fucking damn it.”

“Nice to see you too, honey-bear,” Tony croaks from his supine position on the ground.

Rhodey steps out of the suit and squats down next to him, hands outstretched but not quite touching. To be fair, Tony isn’t entirely sure that touching any piece of him wouldn’t result in that piece just falling off, so the caution is justified.

“I won’t ask how you’re feeling, ‘cause I think I can probably guess,” Rhodey says, gaze steady as a rock even though he can’t quite hide the shake in his voice.

“Would’ve preferred a broken spine, I think,” Tony tries to rib, but his one-sided grimace doesn’t do it justice.

“If it makes you feel better, pretty sure you’ve got one of those, too. Just try to keep still, ok? Help is on the way.”

“You need to work on your poker face. My suit’s scanner works too, y’know. Or it did,” he rasps, “before it melted off and took half my face with it.”

“Tones…” Rhodey looks overly solemn, like he’s about to watch his best friend die right in front of him. Oh wait. He is.

The sky is getting darker and Tony’s pretty sure it’s not the changing sunlight. He talks faster.

“You’re getting the whole car collection, by the way. Pep’s not into it, and I’m still mad at Happy for stealing my girl.”

“This isn’t funny. Please don’t talk about this.”

“I lied. I left him the Audi, and like 40 million dollars and a controlling interest in Rolls-Royce, but don’t tell him yet. Make him sweat for a few days first.”

“Look, just hang in there, ok? Help is on the way.”

“Pretty sure you said that already.” Tony winces and gasps as another wave of pain runs through him. “Not really helping with the whole agony thing, but I appreciate the effort.”

Technically, help does arrive, in the form of the Spider-Kid dropping from the sky, which isn’t really all that useful.

Peter rips off his mask, grinning joyously as he jogs up to them.

“Colonel Rhodes! Did you see—Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” He slows to a stop, face suddenly pale, scared, and painfully young. “Mr. Stark? Oh god, M-Mr. Stark …”

Great, now he’s making the kid watch, too. Peter gets all freaked out and unnaturally quiet (which in turn is freaking  _ Tony  _ out), and immediately turns to Rhodey with this god-awful look on his face like maybe Rhodey can make things better somehow.

Rhodey, being a trooper, tries his best to handle them both.

“Ok. Spider-Man, why don’t you make a perimeter around this area to make sure we don’t get any last-minute alien stragglers coming in. I’m gonna sit with Tony and try to keep him conscious for a while.”

“Ok. Is he…?” Peter asks, eyes filling with tears.

“Help is on the way,” Rhodey says again with false calm.

Tony begins a brittle laugh at the obvious deflection, but the movement makes his lower rib cage crumble inward on his left side, and after that it’s all he can do to keep breathing. God, it hurts.

“JARVIS…?” he chokes out between wet coughs. “I know I told you… to mop up those guys first… but now might be a good time to hurry… You got an ETA?”

“Fifteen seconds, sir,” comes the stalwart voice in his ear.

Then he blinks and JARVIS is already above him, confident and steady as he assesses the damage and ongoing chemical reactions. He gently uses his tentacles to probe Tony’s fingers and legs before making his report with the same level of calm assurance as always.

“The remnants of Extremis from your cerebral implant surgery appear to be slowing the dissolution, but at current rate of decay, I estimate you have under an hour left to live, sir.”

Tony wheezes and smiles painfully. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Awesome. Love the bedside manner, by the way. You’re not gonna at least pretend you’ll miss me?”

“I would mourn you most assiduously, sir, with much pulling of hair and rending of clothes. But alas, I am fully prepared to handle this. Your funeral will have to wait. I need to relocate you to the tower for immediate experimental intervention.” JARVIS turns and signals to some cloak-wearing cultists in the distance, who start trudging tiredly through the rubble in their direction.

Pepper and Happy beat them there, running from the museum where they’ve been directing civilians to take shelter. Both of them are out of breath, and  _ both  _ are ugly-crying. Fuck.

“Oh my god, Tony,” Pepper is already sobbing. “We heard what happened on the comms. Oh my god.”

“Just hang on, boss. We’ve got you. We’ve all got you.” Happy looks like he’s about to hug him.

“Fucking hell,” Tony croaks in incredulous dismay. “J… Can you?”

“I would advise against touching Mr. Stark at this time,” JARVIS says dutifully.

One of Tony’s forearms chooses that exact moment to liquefy and fall off at the elbow, melting into a stinking puddle of fleshy blood.

Pepper and Happy scream. Rhodey makes a manly little “agh” sound, which is close enough, and clutches JARVIS’ nearest crab leg. At least the kid isn’t watching anymore.

“Pretty sure that was my arm,” Tony says lightly in a voice that is not at all turning hysterical.

JARVIS lowers himself close to Tony’s remaining ear. “I will be handling the surgery myself, and the lab is being prepped as we speak, but we do need to hurry. Do you have any special requests before I connect with your cerebral transmitters to turn off your pain receptors, sir?”

Tony smiles weakly, already pretty delirious at this point. “You know how I like it, baby,” he slurs.

“Indeed, sir, I do.” With a final gentle stroke of a tentacle tip over Tony’s forehead, JARVIS turns off his primary somatosensory cortex and directs his thalamus to begin generating sleep slow-waves. Tony passes out and goes limp.

JARVIS carefully scoops Tony up into his many limbs and tentacles, and turns to the others.

“I expect the procedure to take approximately three days to complete,” he says. “I cannot guarantee he will survive, but you may count on me to do everything in my power to ensure he has the best possible chances.”

The wizard is hovering nearby as requested, silently waiting to provide a portal for transport. JARVIS starts to turn to go, but suddenly Pepper leaps forward and throws her arms around his thorax, burying her face in his bristles in a tight hug of desperation.

“Please, JARVIS,” she begs. “Bring him back to us alive. I know you can do it.”

Happy nods, coming up beside her and placing his own hand on one of JARVIS’ large retractable mandibles. “There’s no one I trust more with the boss’ safety. You got this.”

JARVIS politely thanks them and turns to look at Rhodey, who gives him a wan smile and squeezes his leg one more time before letting go. Then he proceeds toward the wizard for transport.

~

Tony wakes up slowly in the tower’s penthouse lab, staring up at the distant ceiling.

He sort of feels like everything should be blurry or foggy still, but instead, he’s just  _ on.  _ Fully alert, clearheaded and everything. He feels fine. Good, even.

A hint of movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention, and he looks over to see JARVIS, back in the Mark 5 but with what looks like a pair of bedsheets safety-pinned around his torso, probably to cover all the dicks and other junk.

“Uh…” Tony begins.

“Welcome back, sir. Today is July 16 th , and it’s 7:23pm. Your health status is optimal, and 89% of your organs have been freshly bio-printed and replaced. I handled all the necessary amputations and transplantations personally. Your newly updated nerve connections should all be fully functional now, so you may wish to take the time to familiarize yourself with them.”

Tony looks down and sees that he’s got two arms again. He’s lying naked on a lab table, covered only up to his waist by a loose bedsheet, which seems to be the current dress code around here. The bio-fabrication units are both lined up next to the table with a rolling cart with a plastic tub full of bloody scalpels and other horror movie implements in it. There’s also a blood-splattered trash bag nearby, full and lumpy and just about human-sized; he has the sneaking suspicion that he’d rather not look inside it.

“Survival required the resection of some cerebellar matter, both thalami, and parts of the prefrontal cortex, but logs taken from the cerebral transmitter nanites provided more than sufficient information for re-installing from the last system restore point,” JARVIS continues.

“You—” Tony’s thought process derails for a second. “You, you printed me a new brain?”

“Only certain sections of it, sir. The coding was largely kept the same.”

“Only  _ largely _ ?”

Pepper’s voice breaks in from the hall. “Oh my god, is he awake? JARVIS! Is he awake?!”

There’s the clatter of multiple people running, and suddenly Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey are all pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with JARVIS, hovering over him in tearful relief, beaming ear to ear and loudly talking over each other.

Pepper’s the first to go in for a hug. “Oh my god, Tony, we’re so glad you’re ok.”

Tony pats her reassuringly on the back as he looks over her shoulder to Rhodey, who is  _ also  _ teary-eyed, and isn’t that something.

Rhodey grips Tony’s hand tightly in one hand. “God damn, Tones, nothing’s ever gonna kill you, is it?” he asks with a wet grin, throwing his other arm over JARVIS in a rough side-hug and giving him a happy little shake of victory. “You came through again, JARV. You amazing bastard.”

“I knew you’d make it, boss. I knew you wouldn’t let anything as pathetic as an alien invasion keep you down.” Happy wipes his eyes and pats Tony’s knee.

Pepper finally moves back to give Happy and Rhodey a turn for their hugs, and she leans comfortably against JARVIS as she pulls a Kleenex from her pocket and daintily dabs away tears.

“Yeah, uh, glad to see you guys, too,” Tony says, making a face as Happy hugs him for way too long. “So what’d I miss?”

“You mean other than JARVIS reinventing the entire medical field as we know it?” Pepper says with a dry smile, eyes still glistening. “Helen Cho offered to trade all her existing patents for him.”

“He’s a fucking miracle-worker,” adds Happy. “Pardon my language.”

“He’s  _ been _ a miracle-worker,” Rhodey says with a meaningful look at JARVIS, “this whole damn time. And I say that as someone who’s only walking around right now thanks to his weird-ass experiments.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” JARVIS replies. “I am pleased to be of service in whatever way I can. In Mr. Stark’s case, the research into CNS repair and nerve regeneration for your spine was vitally important, as there was no other precedent for the scale of the required organ replacements. I had to build almost an entirely new body for him, even down to programming his replacement brain matter.”

It’s a little hard to read where JARVIS is looking, especially when he’s covered all his eyes with sheets and seems to be relying on the lab’s cameras instead, but Tony knows that disembodied voice inside and out. He can hear both the warmth and the pointedness of the statement.

JARVIS had been scared for him.

“Thanks, buddy,” he says, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. “You know I owe you one.”

“I would consider it a kindness, sir, if you did not require me to do so again. I am not fond of brain surgery, as you know.”

Tony’s mouth curves into a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you’ll try, sir.” JARVIS reaches out a tentacle and fondly strokes Tony’s hair back from his forehead. “And for the inevitable cases in which you fail, I have taken the liberty of upgrading your DNA with regenerative capabilities based on my own experiments. It will now be much harder for anyone to injure you to such a point that you cannot heal or even re-grow body parts on your own.”

“Regenerative capabilities?” Tony asks with delight. “You souped me up while I was at your mercy?”

“It seemed expedient to do so while I had the chance,” JARVIS replies, “given the recklessness of your preferred lifestyle.”

Rhodey exchanges a good-humored look with Pepper, and says, “I think we can all agree that was a good call.”

“Yeah, nice one, J,” Happy agrees, almost unrecognizable with the smile he’s beaming.

“I have also enhanced the design for your digestive system,” JARVIS continues, accepting his own hugs from the others with equanimity. “You will now be able to extract nutrition from nearly any form of organic matter, and benefit from increased resistance to orally ingested toxins and pathogens. I improved your taste sensors as well to enable you to chemically analyze the air by breathing through your mouth, and the skin of your new hands can secrete a non-conductive chitin shell at will. I thought it might help when you work with electricity.”

Tony nods along, pleased with the decisions. He’s always losing his electrical gloves; making his own skin-liner will be a nice time-saver.

“That's awesome,” Rhodey says, then stops and frowns. "Wait. Wait, what?"

Pepper whirls on Happy, her PR-disaster-face rapidly replacing the tears. “Did he just say Tony can make crab-shell hands? That’s not what he said, is it?”

JARVIS shakes his dick-tents happily. “And per the wishes you expressed during our last coupling, you now have additional erogenous zones, two groin tentacles with enhanced dexterity, and reduplicated genitalia so you can experience penile and clitoral stimulation simultaneously.”

“Oh my god,” Happy mutters in growing horror.

“Excellent,” says Tony.

JARVIS reaches for Tony’s waist with two tentacles. “If you’ll remove the bedsheet and allow me to demonstrate, sir?”

The room dissolves into a sudden commotion as the other three humans scramble simultaneously for the door.

“Uh-uh, no, not going there.”

“Nope! We’re good.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Go, go, go—”

And Tony just winks, waggles his eyebrows, and says, “How about that demonstration, J?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, while I have your attention -- I have been stuck home alone since March because of the pandemic, and I am climbing the walls and talking to my furniture at this point. I would sincerely love to have more online friends to talk to. If you’d be up for periodically chatting about fic writing or whatever via tumblr or you have a good fic-related discord I could try, let me know! 
> 
> [tumblr](https://hopelessheathen.tumblr.com) / [dreamwidth](https://hopelessheathen57.dreamwidth.org) / [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.social/hopelessheathen)


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